


lights on, lights off

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 04:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16825444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Hey, uh, sorry. Are you Brandon Carlo?” Comes a soft voice from behind him.When he turns around, there’s a kid staring back at him. “Yeah,” Brandon says. “Always cool to meet a fan, how’s it going?”“I play, actually.”





	lights on, lights off

Brandon doesn’t usually go out with the guys, especially not after a loss. And getting hit with a shut out on top of all that is nothing but bitter, leaving this nasty feeling in his nerves. But, like, then again, a few guys decided to hit a bar anyways, and Brandon got dragged along just because he doesn’t deserve a night to himself apparently.

It’s not that great either, tucked away in a booth with his teammates loudly talking about whatever. Charlie occasionally interrupts from next to him with a chirp, or a comment, but that’s the closest Brandon gets to actually participating in the conversation. Because Charlie makes him laugh and that’s just — that. 

He’s staring up at the light dangling above their table when he puts his dimpled glass to his lips and tips it back only to realize it’s empty. A single drop of booze hits his tongue and he makes an unsatisfied face at it, setting his glass down. 

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Charlie, to which he gets a little nod, and slips out of his seat. His glass is in his hand as he makes it over to the bar. 

He has to try and step around a few people, hastily apologizing when he hits some lady’s shoulder. She just laughs it off and goes her way. Brandon’s pretty sure she was fucking wasted. 

\- 

The bartender fills his glass up while he’s leaning up against the bar, tapping his fingers against the counter. He doesn’t hear anything but the _click, click, click_ ing of his nails, and the various conversations droning on around him. Everything blends together when he zones out, watching the wall and trying not to think about tonight’s game. 

Falling 3-0 against the Habs of all teams isn’t, like, his top priority ever. Or his bottom priority, even. The Habs aren’t — they shouldn’t be a concern to begin with. And giving in to them like this is stupid, falling that hard and gracelessly, too. Nobody saw it coming. Brandon doesn’t understand how it happened. 

He gets his glass back and gives the bartender a little nod, and he’s about to head back to his seat when—

“Hey, uh, sorry. Are you Brandon Carlo?” Comes a soft voice from behind him. 

Fifteen different things go through his mind all at once. Like, maybe he should just deny it and go on with his day, or ignore it all together. He’s done it before, especially in sketchy bars when he’s just not interested in starting shit with someone. In whatever way. 

But he’s in Boston, and denying his own identity in a hockey town — his _own_ hockey town — isn’t exactly the smartest thing to do. Next thing he knows he could be scandalized to the public and called a monster for brushing off a fan. So, that’s something. 

When he turns around, there’s a kid staring back at him. Like, a _kid_ , without a doubt not old enough to be in here. He’s got a black cap on his head with a Finnish flag stitched under some words he definitely cannot make any sense out of, so he doesn’t try. But he puts on a small smile and nods his head stiffly. “Yeah, uh,” he says. And looks around for a napkin  
or a pen. “Always cool to meet a fan, how’s it going?” 

The kid blinks at him, and he laughs a little. It sounds like he doesn’t mean for it to come out, like it leaves him without his permission. It’s still sweet enough. He reaches for his cap and flips it backwards. Brandon can see, like, more than half his face now. “I play, actually,” he says. 

“Huh,” Brandon says, and rests his elbow against the counter. “College?” He doubts the kid is old enough, but. 

“For the Canadiens,” he says, and his voice is light and bubbly, like he’s trying to hold in a laugh. “Sorry, this is embarrassing. I’m Jesperi, uh, Kotkaniemi.”

Brandon blinks at him for a minute, and he can feel his face burn as he puts the pieces together. Fuck him for being an idiot, seriously. “Oh! Oh. From,” he waves his hand in some unfamiliar gesture he doesn’t even comprehend. “Tonight.” 

Jesperi smiles. “No kidding, yeah,” he says. “Sorry, I didn’t know if you were busy or not. I just thought it was cool to see you here.”

“Yeah, no—it’s not a problem at all,” Brandon tells him, trying to keep his voice even. He’s still trying to figure this all out. “Aren’t you too young to be in here?” He cringes at how concerned he sounds, but Brandon knows the whole sneaking into bars thing well enough. With fake ID’s and patchy facial hair, trying to convince people he was over twenty-one. But at least he was _convincing_. Jesperi looks young, he really looks eighteen.

“I mean, yeah, but I’m here with some friends. It’s easier to get in,” he says, pointing in some vague direction. Which is interesting, Brandon would probably be outright attacked by his teammates if they ever caught him talking to a Hab as a rookie. Especially after a loss that bad. It’s funny, actually. 

“Makes sense,” Brandon says. He debates on whether or not to compliment his playing, because it was that very playing that just about ruined their game, but like. Spare the kid. “You were great tonight, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Jesperi answers, and he’s still wearing this easy smile. It suits him. 

“Let me buy you a drink. Have one with me.” He raises his glass a little, like gesturing at it, and Jesperi nods.

\- 

Things get to the point where Brandon practically forgets about the rest of the guys, just because being in Jesperi’s company and listening to him talk excitedly about the upcoming season and winter plans is nice. It’s like a breath of fresh air almost, or like getting to relive the experience of being a rookie. He reminisces about all the nerves and excitement, and Brandon sort of just watches it all flash across Jesperi’s face in a matter of minutes. 

“Are your guys still here?” Jesperi asks, and his gaze dances across the rest of the bar, slightly emptier now that it’s gotten late. Some people have filed out, but there’s a table a little further down full of friends being much louder than Brandon needs to deal with right now. 

“Probably not,” Brandon says, looking over at his shoulder to find their table. It’s empty, which figures. They were probably expecting Brandon to pick up and leave, he wasn’t providing very much to their conversation to begin with.

He hasn’t picked up, but like. What can you do. 

“They’re impatient, y’know, and I’m boring,” Brandon adds, tacking on a little laugh. He’s way too loosened up to still be talking to Jesperi, feeling liquid courage pooling up beneath his bones.

“You’re not _boring_ ,” Jesperi says. “I’m having fun. You’re cool to talk to. I haven’t talked to a lot of Bruins, but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to hate them?”

“Oh, yeah. Big time.” 

Jesperi shrugs. “Then, it’d be really hard to hate you. You’re fun. I like it.”

Brandon laughs, it’s small and surprises him a little. Almost as much as Jesperi’s words do. “I like you,” Brandon says, chuckling. “I’ve been sick of listening to Charlie talking about his fucking video games, so.” 

“Oh—right, uh, sorry if I’m spending too much time talking about hockey. If, y’know, that’s getting to you,” Jesperi apologizes quickly, and Brandon feels his heart swell. This kid is too sweet for his own good, maybe. 

“You’re fine. Trust me.” Brandon nudges his shoulder a little, which gets another smile out of him. It’s so easy to build him back up again, it’s a little dangerous. Someone could get seriously hurt. Like, Brandon, probably. 

“Good, I was a little worried.”

Brandon nudges him again, but he doesn’t move away this time, taking another sip from his drink, still pressed up against Jesperi. He can smell his cologne, and part of him wants to ask what it is. It smells expensive, strong and sweet. 

They’re both silent for a beat, and Brandon isn’t sure what it means. If there’s anything implied in it, in Jesperi letting him press up against him, or letting him compliment him every now and then. It’s just—he doesn’t wanna mistake his kindness for anything other than what it is. Kindness.

But, Brandon’s getting this feeling in the pit of his stomach. That this could be something else. He’s a little drunk, and he’s not thinking straight, and he just. “Hey,” he says eventually. 

Jesperi hums in response. “Yeah?”

“You wanna, uh,” he starts, “get out of here?”

He’s close enough that he can hear Jesperi swallow thickly, his throat clicks right by his ear. “With you?” 

Brandon isn’t sure how to respond in a way that makes his intentions perfectly clear. So, he settles for, “Come back to mine,” and hopes that’s enough.

Maybe it is. Because, “Yes. Yeah, of course,” Jesperi says quickly, and Brandon smiles before he can help himself.

\- 

He hopes it isn’t wrong that he’s letting himself sweep away a rookie from a rival team. Montreal’s fucking golden boy. Their saviour at center. But.

They stumble into Brandon’s place laughing at a stupid joke Brandon made in the cab, and Jesperi just lets him do whatever he wants. Like when he nearly melts against the wall that Brandon presses him up against. There’s a twinkle under his eyes. 

He wants to take him apart, and it would be so fucking easy. Just to take what he needs. Jesperi would be so good for him.

“Is this okay?” Brandon asks, and he doesn’t mean for his voice to come out as soft as it does, but this feels like a precious moment. Like Jesperi could break with any wrong move. And _fuck_ he’s only eighteen, he very well could. 

“Yeah, god yes,” Jesperi answers, and his breath fans out across Brandon’s lips in a way that makes it impossible to keep from leaning in and kissing him.

Which—he does. He has to. There’s something in the way that Jesperi looks at him that pulls him in, like this invisible string, and Brandon decides to stomp down every thought telling him not to. Those lingering warnings settling into the back of his head. 

Jesperi tips his chin back to reach his lips, a hand settling on the side of his face, and Brandon keeps him tight against the wall. He kisses him like he’s trying to make him forget there are other guys out there, like he wants to lock up all that innocence and keep it for himself. It’s just — Brandon wants him like he hasn’t wanted in a while. 

And maybe it’s some of the booze playing into it all, but the way Jesperi makes these wounded noises against his lips when he grinds his hips forward is definitely helping. That and the way he clings to Brandon, giving him all his trust at once, and Brandon just doesn’t want to break it. He wants to hold him with care, keep him safe, and he doesn’t know where that urge comes from but, _fuck_ , it’s all too easy to get lost in it.

“You wanna come up to my room?” Brandon asks into the space between their lips when he pulls back, because he’s already got Jesperi panting. And he knows the initial promise of more is going to rile him up.

“Yeah,” Jesperi says. He’s got a hand fisted into the front of Brandon’s shirt, and Brandon isn’t even sure when it got there, but he likes the weight of it. That faithfulness Jesperi’s got in him lying beneath it all. 

\- 

In his room, Brandon can get Jesperi to pull off his shirt just like that. And he lowers him to the edge of his bed, swaying him towards it with soft hands and gentle encouragements. 

Then Brandon’s between his legs. And, honestly, if you asked him two hours ago if this is where he saw himself, kneeling for Montreal’s poster boy, he’d say you’re insane. 

But it all seems a little more real now, with Jesperi looking at him with his eyes blown so fucking wide, full of innocence. And Brandon asks him, “Yeah?” As if he needs to, like the absolute desire splattered across Jesperi’s face isn’t more than obvious. He’s thankful for that at least, because getting pushed along with silent cues is enough to keep him from doubting himself.

He asks anyways, and the nod he gets is all Brandon needs to unbutton the front of his jeans, slipping them off. He takes care of the boxers next, and just watching the way Jesperi’s dick slips out from beneath the waistband is enough to make Brandon’s jaw _ache_. 

When he takes him in his mouth, he loses himself a little. In all of it. Just the need to get Jesperi there, wanting him to say his name in a way nobody would believe if Brandon actually told someone. He wants to get him panting, wants to work his mouth in a way that he won’t forget. 

And he’s done this enough times to leave a mental mark on a fucking rookie. He won’t let him forget. It makes his dick stir in his jeans, and he has to hold himself back from reaching down and taking care of himself.

So, he works for it, occupying himself with other things. Licking and sucking what he can reach, working the rest of Jesperi’s dick with his hand until he’s warmed up enough to take it entirely. And Brandon’s been around the block a few goddamn times, he knows what he’s doing. 

He swallows around him when the head hits the back of his throat, and Jesperi makes a small noise above him. Then comes another one, when Brandon sucks a little harder, hollowing out his cheeks and taking him like it’s exactly what he was meant to do from day one.

It doesn’t take long after that for Jesperi to fall back on his elbows, burying a hand in Brandon’s hair and keeping it there. It’s a light pressure, easy, guiding Brandon a little with he presses into it—telling Jesperi it’s okay to pull or fuck with him a little. The thought of that makes Brandon’s stomach curl with arousal, sending his heartbeat spiking. 

Maybe it’s a minute after that that Jesperi lets out a broken warning, telling him, “I’m close — Brandon, _fuck_.” His accent is heavier, and Brandon loves the way his name rolls off his tongue, clouded by his moans. 

He keeps going.

\- 

Jesperi comes right down his throat, and Brandon swallows most of it. He thinks he does at least, until he touches a finger to the corner of his mouth and has to feed the rest of it to himself.

Jesperi makes a small breathy sound, and Brandon smiles up at him. “You liked that?” He asks, and watches him suck in his bottom lip. He’s flushed, and it’s unfairly endearing. Brandon’s so weak for this kid.

“Can I get you back? I can — whatever you want. Just tell me,” Jesperi says, and he settles a hand over the front of Brandon’s pants when he sits down on the bed next to him. 

Brandon swallows, trying to keep himself from grinding up into the pressure. He thinks he could get off like that, just with Jesperi’s hand. But he brushes the idea off because it’s a little pathetic, to be completely honest.

He isn’t sure what to ask for, because Jesperi’s eighteen. He’s not gonna push for anything. He’s fine with little things.

“Can I just,” he starts, and considers it for a moment. “Would it be cool if I just came on your face?” 

Jesperi blinks at him, and he squirms a little. “Shit, yeah,” he says, his tongue prodding at his bottom lip. “Where do you want me?” 

Brandon gets him to lie down, and Jesperi watches Brandon with rapt attention as he undresses, throwing off his pants and his shirt. He isn’t sure where it lands, but it doesn’t really matter. Not with Jesperi looking up at him, his lips slightly parted. And Brandon’s gonna wipe that look right off his face. 

It doesn’t take long, because he’s been working himself up for some time. He just jerks himself off, right over him, and he can feel Jesperi’s breath on his dick — teasing him. If anything, Jesperi’s definitely eye candy and that could be enough.

His legs are parted, dick resting against his stomach, and Brandon tries to commit the sight to memory, because all of this plus the way Jesperi is so fucking patient to get come on his face is enough to get him there in moments. 

Which, he does. Brandon comes not long after, splattering Jesperi’s cheeks with it. And he just takes it, licking at whatever lands on his lips.

“You look so fucking pretty,” Brandon says, lazily dragging his fingers through his come and slipping it into Jesperi’s mouth. He feels his tongue roll over his fingertips, sucking away every last bit of it. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Brandon leans down to peck his lips, and Jesperi smiles underneath him. He sits up. “I should get back,” he says. “Fuck.” 

“You can stay the night,” Brandon offers, maybe too quickly. Jesperi’s shock is so fucking clear, obviously written across his face. But it melts into something softer, a gentle appreciation.

“You sure? I don’t wanna be annoying,” he says, and Brandon leans in to kiss his jaw. He isn’t sure if he wants to leave this with calling Jesperi an uber back to his hotel. Not right now, anyways. 

“I want you to stay,” Brandon insists. “I mean, if you want to.”

“Yeah.” Jesperi smiles. “I want to.” 

\- 

Brandon falls asleep with Jesperi tucked into his side, and he decides to leave thinking this over for the morning. Because right now, he wants this.

**Author's Note:**

> i reallylove both of them so much? i would fight a grizzly bear with my bare hands for them okay


End file.
